neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: December 12th, 1999
Status: Private - Michael and Raphael (Complete)
Setting: The Lobby
Summary: Necessary rearrangements to the ornaments and what happened then.

Michael wandered to the lobby, taking a look at the Christmas Tree. There'd been a few additions since he had last seen it. Seeing a tiny rod of Asclepius, he smiled, knowing who had hung it there. If he concentrated enough he could almost sense a bit of Raphael's aura radiating from the small ornament.
Then, however, he noticed something absolutely shocking. The two little angels that had been so happily holding hands when he'd last seen them were now sitting apart! And on separated branches, even. Now, that most certainly wouldn't do. The poor angels were both so lonely that way!
So, taking them into gentle hands, he yet again set them sitting next to each other. As he nodded at them, they again took a hold of each other's hand, seemingly quite happy.
Michael nodded to himself. Yes, that was very good.
Then, however, he froze as he heard something he had definitely not expected to hear.

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"You MASTURBATE?" Raphael nearly choked and his eyes grew wide. "But... but... you're Michael! You lead the host! You're the chief smiter! You must have a thousand churches in your name and you...

And they're all just like you, aren't they?" He whispered. "All of my brethren. The demon didn't lie... And I'm the only one who apparently doesn't feel the need to do this. 'Innocent' you call it. Apparently nobody else cares about that."

Raphael wanted to weep. His face was flushed and he trembled.

"So you haven't actually done it. What does it matter? Surely you've considered it. Surely you've lusted in your mind. Why else would you feel the need to... to... to 'play with yourself.'

And that's as bad as doing it. Lust of the mind. I just wonder who you think of when you..."

He fell silent and felt paralyzed.

"No... NO... He wasn't lying was he? It was you... it is you..."

Raphael looked at him in mute, frozen horror, shaking imperceptibly.

Michael bit his lip. Every word was like a stab straight at his heart. The disgust and disbelief mixed together were wound into something that hit him right at his weakest spots, knowing each and every one. From anybody else he could have taken it. But not from Raphael, not his Raphael, the sweet and pure creature he adored and loved so much.

Oh, he had considered it -- or, rather, dreamt of it, knowing that he could never get the only one he would even consider sleeping with. Sure, he had his own little fantasies, private little games of mind, but those were never going to happen. Especially now, and even more so if Raphael actually made the connection between the two ornament angels and the two of them.

Why did he feel the need to? Because he ached, because he was so full of love and desire and frustration that he couldn't take it anymore. Because Raphael's mere existence, every gentle smile, every word by the sweet voice, everything about the red-haired angel just made Michael want him ever more.

And then, Raphael finally realized it.

Michael bit his lip. This was not going to be easy, but it had to be done. He had to say it, since Raphael was going to hate him anyway, but he couldn't live with himself if he hadn't actually managed to summon the courage to say it aloud. He had made Lucifer Fall from the Heaven, hadn't he? Surely he could handle this. Surely he could once again face the straightforwardness of those eyes, so innocent and open...

"I love you, Raphael," he whispered, knowing that the other angel would hear his words. "I love you so much more than I love anybody else. I want you, I need you, and I feel so bad about it that it's killing me from the inside." He finally turned his eyes at his fellow archangel, tears now freely streaming down his cheeks. "Come on, say it. Just say that you hate me, despise me, whatever. Tell me just how disgusting I am! Hit me, if it makes you feel any better!" A sob bursted out of his chest as he was unable to stop it, the emotions becoming too much for him to handle all at once.

"Yes, I am Michael. I am the Warrior Prince of Heaven. I lead the Host, I am the one who once slew Lucifer himself. But I'm no better than any of the others. I am just as vulnerable as any other angel. You are still innocent. Remember that, cherish that, and have that as your last comfort when you notice that nobody's perfect, nobody but Him."

"I just happened to fall in love with you," he finally said, his voice now below any whisper. "Is it truly that wrong to love?" And, raising his eyes, now full of tears, to look at the other celestial being, he waited for the words that would most probably be either the damnation or the salvation of his badly aching heart.

Raphael looked at him, still frozen, still not knowing what to think. Then he snapped out of his stupor and looked at him sternly.

"I love Him. I love the other angels as one ought. Perfection is what we should aspire to. You seem to have forgotten this."

He turned and started to walk away.

"Not that I fault you. Totally, that is. It's this place, I would swear it. It... does things to people.

Pull yourself together," he said sternly. "Go... 'play' if you need to. But I'm not about to make an effort.

Ever."

He turned his back and kept moving.

Michael looked after Raphael's retreating figure. Every step of those light feet was crushing the tiny bits that remained of his shattered heart.

That disgust... that utter hatred, despise he had detected in Raphael... it cut into him so deeply that he couldn't even begin to describe the pain of it.

As the other angel disappeared from sight, Michael's gaze wandered back to the tree and the two little angels still sitting next to each other. A hand lashed out, ready to crush the tiny ornaments, to take out at least some of his furstration and fear and sorrow.

However, just as the fist was about to close around the angels, Michael hesitated. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to crush the tiny objects. Even if they had triggered the chain of events that had eventually led to this pain that he now felt, they still represented something to him.

Very, very gently, he picked the one ornament that looked so very much like Raphael, lifting it up to the top of the tree. Gently placing it at the highest pranch, just beside the angel on the top, he then adored the effect the lights had on the tiny angel, picking up all the wonderful details and the coppery highlights of the fiery hair. And there sat the mini-Raphael, looking over everything from its place of look-out.

Then, the blond archangel turned to the one angel that closely resembled him. For a moment he considered utterly destroying it. Then, however, he changed his mind.

A moment later footsteps retreated.

Under the tree, almost hidden by the shadows, lay a little angel ornament, abandoned and uncared for, looking so very lonely and unhappy.